


Over-share

by daisydiversions



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-09
Updated: 2008-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydiversions/pseuds/daisydiversions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scrapbook is quite possibly Shishido's most hated object in the whole of the Eastern World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over-share

It is while Atobe is blow drying his hair that his Insight Senses tingle dangerously, and he is dressed and out the door in moments.

The scene he comes upon in the drawing room would have been enough to seize him with terror if good birth and breeding did not exempt him from such signs of unease. Instead, he narrows his eyes and barks in irritation, "What are you doing?"

His mother and Oshitari look up from the scrapbook with twin looks of unaffected fondness, and Atobe wants to choke Oshitari for sitting so close to Atobe's mother so soon after they've orgasmed all over one of her beds with Atobe's dick in his hand and Atobe's breath panting into his mouth. At least, Atobe thought emphatically, they'd showered on opposite sides of the house, which was, he'd explained to Oshitari earlier, the prudent thing to do.

"Keigo, darling," she greets him in that soft, cold way that the nouveau riche like Hiyoshi's mother can never quite manage to duplicate. "I am just returned from Prague, and Yuushi-kun has been good enough to indulge me. Won't you join us?"

It is not a request, Atobe knows, and sits in a nearby chair with a dignified huff. He knows this ritual well enough to acknowledge once started, it is only more painful to attempt to thwart it now. The scrapbook is quite possibly Shishido's most hated object in the whole of the Eastern World, and Atobe's mother delights utilizing it against all of Atobe's girlfriends to test them in some unknown neglectful, yet dotting motherly way. Or perhaps the one she is testing is Atobe.

Regardless, he grits his teeth and bares it until Oshitari has cooed enough to satisfy her, and in one graceful movement she is off again to arrange another grand dinner party or make plans to donate another wing to the local hospital. She leaves them with a warm touch to Oshitari's cheek and a chaste kiss to Atobe's forehead. 

Atobe looks disdainfully at the ceiling and crosses his arms in contempt. He can practically feel Oshitari's amusement as he makes his way across the room and perches himself on the arm of Atobe's chair. Oshitari's arm comes around Atobe's neck and his fingers work the still damp ends of Atobe's hair in purposeless circles, and Atobe finds that he is not so out of humor as he previously supposed. It's a nice day out, and they can still get in a couple sets before the stadium lights will be needed. 

"Keigo, darling," Oshitari tells him in a low voice against his ear, "that turtle costume really did suit you."

Atobe feels no guilt at Oshitari's pained shriek when he pushes him off the chair.


End file.
